


you were always coming home

by elizaham8957



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Reunion Feels, aka the true ending of teen wolf, idk what else to say happy stydia anniversary y'all, post 6x10, these kids, theyre so in love, who is 6b i don't know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 03:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13538883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: “Thank you,” Stiles murmurs, nose buried in her hair, and Lydia sighs, softly, into his shoulder. “You remembered me.”





	you were always coming home

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO THE BEST COUPLE EVER GOING CANON EVERYONE!!!! Lemme just say that the sheer amount of Stydia on ALL my dashes today has been SO wonderful. My skin is clear and my crops are watered and OUR OTP HAS BEEN CANON FOR ONE YEAR. WOW. WE ARE LIVIN THE LIFE
> 
> That said, this is the post 6x10 fic I've been meaning to write since that day, pretty much. I hope you enjoy fluff and our kids just being ridiculously soft together. I'd love yo know what you think, and I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter if you'd like to come chat about our beautiful endgame couple! 
> 
> Happy Stydiaversary, everyone! Enjoy!

The second the ceiling stops shaking, Lydia has her arms around Stiles again.

She’s not really sure which of them made the move. It wasn’t a conscious decision, she thinks, to run back into Stiles’s arms. More like an instinct. After all the time they just spent apart, she’s not letting go of him again that easily.

The Sheriff sort of stands awkwardly to the side, eyes still trained on the spot where the Ghost Rider impersonating his wife had just been standing, before Lydia had helped destroy her with a fatal scream. Lydia peeks over Stiles’s shoulder, nose still buried in his flannel, and she meets the Sheriff’s eyes, nods slightly when he mouths, “thank you.”

Eventually, Scott comes back into the school, beaten and bloodied, followed by Malia and Liam and even Peter. She and Stiles sort of break away from each other so that Scott can tell them exactly what happened, how the hunt is gone, how Mr. Douglass is never coming back, but their hands stay linked, Stiles’s fingers woven in between hers, warm and solid and _real._ So real.

_Stiles is real._

It still feels a little bit like a miracle. And yet, she still can’t believe that she could just _forget_ him like she did.

Not that she _really_ did. Despite everyone’s doubts, regardless of logic telling her otherwise, she had always known, a little bit. Enough. Enough to bring him back to her.

Everyone gets in their cars afterwards, and she walks right past her Toyota in the parking lot, hand still tightly linked with Stiles’s.

“I’m not leaving you again,” she tells him, and her voice is certain, determined. She’s not afraid anymore, to let him know how she feels. She probably should be— she’s never felt _anything_ like what she feels for Stiles, never experienced feelings of this magnitude. But he was almost erased from her memory without her ever telling him how she felt, just how much he meant to her, and… and. With that, the fear sort of fades away. It doesn’t seem to matter anymore, admitting her feelings to herself. To him. Because up until today, she had thought Stiles _knew_ how she felt. And now that he’s _here,_ solid and real next to her, her memories found once again, the thought of him _not_ knowing is scarier than telling him she’s in love with him.

Because she is. He might not have needed her to say it, but god, she loves him.

“Good,” Stiles murmurs, squeezing her hand. “Because I’m not leaving you again either.”

They drive back to his house in silence, hands still linked over the center console of the Jeep. Stiles’s dad’s car is already in the driveway when they get there, and Lydia texts her mom to tell her she’s safe, and that she’ll talk to her in the morning as Stiles hugs his dad goodnight. Lydia follows Stiles into his bedroom, eyes trained on him as he shuts the door, flicks the light on, bathing the room in a soft, warm glow, light flickering over everything that has now returned: his desk, his bed, his murder board. In the corner of the room is his chair, lacrosse jersey still strewn across the top, and Lydia smiles, briefly, thinking of the relief that had flooded her brain when she had plucked it from pure memory, inhaled and smelled the scent of _Stiles,_ this boy who meant so much to her, who she was fighting so hard to remember.

Stiles turns to look at her, expression soft and reverent, and before she can really think, she’s rushing into his arms again.

She buries her nose in his chest, inhales that scent that is so distinctively _him._ She runs her hands up his back, resting her palms on his shoulders, and the heavy weight of his hands on the small of her back is the best feeling in the world. He rests his forehead almost against her shoulder, dipping down to curl his whole body around hers, and it feels so right, being completely surrounded by Stiles. She still can’t believe that he’s _here,_ living and breathing and standing right in front of her.

“Thank you,” Stiles murmurs, nose buried in her hair, and she sighs, softly, into his shoulder. “You remembered me.”

“I almost didn’t,” she admits, voice quiet. “I thought I was going crazy for a while. Everyone else did. But…” she pauses, pulling away a little bit so that she can look into his eyes. His expression is _incredible,_ his eyes soft and open, his smile slight and a little lopsided, and he _radiates_ adoration. She can feel the love in his gaze with every fiber of her body.

“I knew something was missing,” she finishes. “There was just… a part of me, that suddenly wasn’t there anymore.”

He smiles at her, soft, sweet, his eyebrows raising a little bit as he just keeps looking at her. “I’m sorry,” she admits, because ever since her memories had come rushing back, earlier today, she hasn’t stopped feeling guilty for letting them slip through her grasp. “I’m sorry I almost forgot you.”

“No, Lydia,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “You don’t— don’t be sorry, okay? Not at all.” His expression softens again, his eyes shining. “You did it. You brought me back.”  

His hand drifts up to her cheek, thumb brushing against her cheekbone, his other hand sifting through her hair, letting his fingers tangle in her silky locks. Lydia stares into his eyes, trapped in his amber irises, caught up in the emotion behind them. “You remembered,” he says, and his voice is soft, but she can feel the magnitude of the words anyways. She nods, slightly, and she realizes how close they are— his nose almost brushes hers, his eyes inches away, pulling her in. His gaze flicks down to her lips, and her heart speeds up as his eyes meets hers again, silently asking her permission.

She doesn’t need to respond, she just leans into him.

She sighs when Stiles’s lips meet hers again, soft and sweet against hers. Their kiss earlier had been all adrenaline, pent-up feelings, and utter _relief_ that he was _here,_ he was in _front of her_ — Lydia wasn’t sure exactly who had kissed who first in the locker room. That kiss had been desperate, full of passion and emotion, almost instinctive. But this kiss— this is different. This is soft, sweet, gentle. Stiles kisses her reverently, slowly, like they have all the time in the world. Like a promise of more to come.

They pull away from each other slowly, foreheads pressed together, noses still brushing. There’s barely any room between them, the two of them hovering in each other’s space, unwilling to move even an inch away.

“I missed you so much,” she admits, voice soft, but his expression at her words is even softer. All her fears, everything holding her back before has somehow disappeared. Remembering everything earlier, realizing Stiles _didn’t_ know how she felt— it was like a flood had broken loose inside her, or something. Suddenly, she can’t stand to think that he doesn’t know how much he means to her.

“Even when I couldn’t remember you, I missed you,” she tells him, and Stiles smiles, beautiful and wide, as he leans back down to kiss her again. This time is a little less gentle, a little less hesitant, and she smiles against his lips as he whispers into her.

“I missed you too, Lyds,” he says, no space between them. “I missed you so much too.”

***

They end up curled together in his bed, Lydia in a borrowed t-shirt from Stiles, the hemline hitting her mid-thigh. Stiles’s hands are warm on her back, his arms heavy around her, and she marvels at how well her head fits in the crook of his neck, her nose nudging against his skin. Their bodies are like puzzle pieces, perfectly shaped to fit together, difficult to pull apart. She runs her fingers up and down his chest absentmindedly, curling into the warmth radiating through his thin t-shirt.

“Stiles,” she murmurs, because she knows he’s not asleep either. They’re both exhausted, but adrenaline still lingers in her system in the way it always does after a near miss with a supernatural catastrophe.

“Mmm,” he responds, humming into her hair, where his nose is still buried, inhaling her scent deeply. She doesn’t mind in the slightest— she’s been doing the same thing all night. Every reminder that he’s real, that he’s here with her, she takes greedily, clutching it close to her chest and refusing to let go.

“I know you said I didn’t have to say it back,” she tells him, and she feels his body sort of freeze, before shifting beneath her hands so he can look at her. “But when I remembered you today, I realized… I had thought, before then, that you knew. That I had told you.” She swallows, meeting his eyes, and his pupils are wide, expression indescribable. “And when I remembered that I _hadn’t,_ that you didn’t know—”

He shakes his head, slightly, a smile tugging at his lips. “I knew, Lydia,” he tells her.

She nods, her lips turning up a little bit. “I know,” she assures him. “But I still want you to hear it.” She inhales, resting her palm right over his heart, feeling it thumping beneath her skin. “I love you,” she tells him, and with those words her heart pounds, alive and true and _whole._ Stiles is back, and suddenly, she doesn’t feel like she’s missing some part of herself anymore. Because when he’s right here, in front of her, she feels complete again.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, his smile wonderstruck, his sentiment reflected in his beautiful whiskey eyes. He pulls her tighter, cradles her head against his chest, his palms smoothing over her back.

“I’m never going to forget again,” she says, voice quiet, but she means it. Never again in her life does she _ever_ want to live without knowing what it feels like to be completely, irrevocably loved by Stiles Stilinski, and to love him the same way in return.

“Good,” Stiles murmurs, kissing her hair, hands wrapping around her, pulling her in closer to him again. “Because I’m never gonna stop loving you.”

She knows, in her heart, she never will either.


End file.
